Plague

by Graham Masterton

  Dr. Petrie put on his gown and mask, and followed Sister Maloney into the crowded ward. He had to squeeze his way past the bedside of a 24-year-old policeman called Herb Stone, who was now in the final stages of sickness. His face was gray, and he was muttering incoherently.

  Sister Maloney, forging through the patients like a great white ship, brought Dr. Petrie at last to a bed in the corner. A woman was lying on it with dark circles under her eyes, clutching a soiled blanket and shaking with uncontrollable spasms.

  Dr. Petrie leaned forward and looked at her closely. He felt a long, slow, dropping feeling in his stomach. The woman opened her eyes and blinked at him through the glare of the ward's fluorescent light. 'Leonard,' she whispered. 'I knew you'd come.'

  'Hallo, Margaret,' he said quietly. 'Are you feeling bad?'

  She nodded, and tried to swallow. 'I'd sure like a drink of water.'

  'Sister? Could you get me one please?' Dr. Petrie asked.

  Sister Maloney steamed off for him, and Dr. Petrie turned back to his former wife.

  'Where's Prickles?' he asked. 'Is she safe?'

  Margaret nodded again. 'I left her with Mrs. Henschel, next door. She's all right, Leonard. She didn't catch anything.'

  'You can't be sure.'

  Margaret looked at him for a while. 'No,' she whispered. 'I can't be sure.'

  'Is there anything you want me to do? Are you comfortable?'

  'It hurts a little. Not much.'

  He reached out and took her hand. He could hardly believe that, less than two years ago, he had lain side by side in bed with this same woman, that he had kissed her and argued with her, and that he had actually given her a child. He remembered her in court, in her severe black suit. He remembered her on the day that he had walked out, red-eyed and crying by the front door. He remembered how she had looked on the day they were married.

  'Leonard.' she said, stroking the back of his hand.

  'Yes, Margaret?'

  'Did you ever love me?'

  Dr. Petrie turned away and stared for a long time at the wall.

  'You can't ask me that, Margaret. Not now.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I would probably lie. Or worse than that, I might even tell you the truth.'

  'That you did love me, or that you didn't?'

  He felt her pulse. She was fading fast. She was being taken away from him like a Polaroid photo in reverse, each detail gradually melting back to blank, unexposed, featureless film.

  'How do you feel now?' he asked her.

  You're changing the subject.'

  'No, I'm not. I'm trying to treat a patient.'

  'Leonard, didn't you ever love me? I mean — really, really love me?'

  He didn't answer. He looked at her dying, and held her hand, but he didn't answer. He didn't know at that moment what the true answer was.

  'Leonard,' she said, 'kiss me.'

  'What?'

  'Kiss me, Leonard.'

  He saw that she was almost dead. Her eyes were glazing, and she could barely summon the breath to speak. Her head was slowly sinking towards the rough blanket trying to treat you like a doctor on which she lay, and even the shudders of plague had subsided in her muscles.

  There was no time to decide whether to kiss her. Instead, he pulled the blanket over her face.

  Sister Maloney, busy with a sick boy, said, 'Has she gone, Dr. Petrie?'

  Dr. Petrie nodded. 'Yes, sister. She's gone.'

  As he passed by, Sister Maloney laid a hand on his sleeve. Her sympathetic green eyes showed above her surgical mask.

  'Was she someone you knew rather well, Dr. Petrie?'

  Dr. Petrie took a deep breath, and looked around him. 'No, sister, she wasn't. I didn't know her well at all.' It was not a callous denial, it was the truth. There were parts of Margaret he had understood thoroughly, and hated — but there was so much, he realized now, that he had not known at all.

  Afterwards, as he walked back down the crowded corridor towards the elevators, he felt oddly calm and numb. He didn't feel happy; he had never, in his bitterest moments, wished Margaret dead. But now the problem had been taken out of his hands by chance, and by Pasteurella pestis. He was free at last.

  A nurse came up to him and touched his arm. She was a small, pretty colored girl. He had seen her around the emergency wards before, and even toyed with the idea of asking her out for a drink.

  'Doctor Petrie?' she said.

  He looked at her. 'Yes, nurse?'

  She lowered her eyes. 'I don't know how to say this. It sounds ridiculous.'

  He looked at her steadily. Like every nurse in the hospital, she had been working for hours without a break, and all around her, she had seen doctors and interns and sisters dying on their feet. She was tired, and her black face was glossy with perspiration.

  'Why not try me?' he asked huskily.

  'Well,' she said, 'I heard a rumor.'

  'What kind of a rumor?'

  'My brother's friend works for the Miami Fire Department. It seems like he told my brother they've been given special orders. The firemen, I mean. They've been told to get ready for some big blazes.'

  Dr. Petrie felt a cold sensation sliding down his spine.

  'Some big blazes?' he said. 'What did he mean by that?'

  'I don't know, doctor,' said the nurse. She still didn't look up, and her voice was barely audible. 'I guess they mean to burn the city.'

  Dr. Petrie let the words sink in. I guess they mean to burn the city. It was a medieval way of dealing with an epidemic, but then, all things considered, they were faced with a medieval situation. For the first time in a hundred years, they had a raging disease on their hands that modern medical treatments could neither suppress nor deflect.

  He reached out and gently lifted the nurse's chin. 'I'm not going to pretend I don't believe you,' said, 'because I've seen enough of this administration's tactics to believe it could be true. You might as well know that Miami has been thrown to the wolves. The city is surrounded by National Guardsmen, and there's no way out.'

  She held his hand for a moment, and then nodded. 'I guessed they would do that,' she said simply.

  They stepped back for a moment while a medical trolley was pushed between them, carrying a shivering middle-aged woman in a soiled white summer coat.

  'Well,' said the colored nurse. 'I suppose I'd better get back to work.'

  Dr. Petrie said, as she turned, 'You could try to escape, you know. You could run away.'

  She looked back. 'Run away? You mean, right out of Miami?'

  'That's right. Right out of Miami.'

  'But there are people here who need me. How could I leave my patients?'

  'Nurse,' said Dr. Petrie, 'you know and I know that they're all going to die anyway. You don't think that anything you can do will prevent that?'

  'No, I don't,' she said, without hesitating. 'But it's my duty to stay with them, and do whatever I can. It's only human.'

  Dr. Petrie said, 'You know that you'll die yourself, don't you?'

  She nodded.

  He didn't say anything else — just looked at her, and thought what a waste it was. She was young and she was black and she was pretty, and she had everything in the world to stay alive for. Now, because of some crass and destructive official bungling, she was going to die.

  'Doctor,' she said quietly, 'I know what you're thinking.'

  He looked away, but she stepped up to him again and laid her hand on his arm.

  'Doctor, we're all human here. We're nothing special — just ordinary people. I want to stay because that's my choice, but maybe you want to go. Doctor, you don't have to seek my approval to do that. You only have to walk right out of here, and take your chance.'

  'I have a daughter,' he said, in a trembling voice.

  The nurse smiled, and shook her head. 'There's no reason to make excuses. Not to me, nor anyone. Just go, Doctor Petrie.'

  He bit his lip, then turned away to the elevators. The last he saw of the
colored nurse was her forgiving, resigned and understanding face, as the elevator doors closed between them. There are some people, he thought, whose devotion makes everything else around them seem tawdry and irrelevant.

  Dr. Selmer was fast asleep on the couch when Dr. Petrie returned to the office. Adelaide was sitting beside him reading a medical magazine and yawning.

  'That didn't take long,' she said.

  He sat down next to her and rubbed his eyes. 'It was Margaret,' he said wearily. 'She just died, about five minutes ago.'

  Adelaide slowly put down her magazine. 'Margaret?' she said, shocked.

  'She's dead, Adelaide. She had the plague.'

  She reached over and grasped his wrist. 'Oh, Leonard. Oh, God — I'm sorry. I know that we wished all kinds of things on her. But not this.'

  Dr. Petrie sighed. 'There's nothing we can do. She caught it, and she died. It doesn't matter what we wished or didn't wish.'

  'What about Prickles? Has she got it too?'

  'I don't know. Margaret said she hadn't. She left her with the woman next door when they took her into hospital.'

  Adelaide frowned. She could see what Leonard was thinking. He was exhausted, and the past forty-eight hours seemed to have bent and aged him. He was suddenly faced with a choice — to shoulder the responsibility of saving what he had left; or to close his eyes to his own loves and feelings, and plunge himself into a medical battle that he knew was utterly hopeless.

  'Leonard,' she said softly, 'I know that you're a doctor, and whether you can cure people or not, you still have to do your best.'

  He didn't answer. He merely said, 'Is there any more coffee?'

  She held his wrist harder. 'Leonard, if you want to stay here, I'll understand. But if you want to make a break for it, I'll understand that, too. I want to be with you, that's all.'

  Dr. Petrie leaned over and kissed her cheek. She turned her face, and kissed him on the mouth. There was passion in their kiss, but there was also a kind of exploration and communication. Lips touching each other, tongues touching each other, questioning and asking.

  At last, he said, 'A nurse downstairs told me they were going to burn the city. She heard it from a fireman.'

  Adelaide stared. 'They're going to do what?'

  'The plague is obviously out of hand. They're thinking of burning the city.'

  'Who is?'

  'I don't know. Firenza, the Disease Control Center, the county health chief. What does it matter?'

  'But that's insane. They can't set fire to the whole of Miami!'

  Dr. Petrie stood up. 'They can, honey, and they probably will. Now, how about that coffee?'

  Adelaide stood up, too. 'Leonard — damn the coffee! If this city's going to bum, I'm not going to burn along with it! You think I'm going to stand here passively making cups of coffee while the whole place goes up in flames? You're out of your mind!'

  Dr. Petrie held her shoulders and calmed her down. 'Don't panic, Adelaide, for God's sake. It's probably nothing more than a contingency plan, that's all. Whenever there's a plague, you have to burn clothing and blankets and bodies, just to stop further infection. Look — we don't even know what's really happening. We have no idea how many people have died, or whether the plague is spreading or not.'

  Adelaide looked straight into his eyes. 'Leonard,' she said, 'I don't care. I just think we ought to get the hell out of here before they put a match to us.'

  'Even if I decide to stay?'

  'You can't decide to stay!'

  Dr. Petrie turned away. 'That girl downstairs — the one who told me they were going to burn Miami — she's staying. She wants to stand by her patients.'

  'This is her hospital,' persisted Adelaide. 'It's her job to stay. What about Prickles? Are you just going to leave her out there, and cross your fingers that she won't get sick — or burned — or raped by some maniac?'

  'Adelaide!' shouted Dr. Petrie.

  'For Christ's sake, Leonard, this is not the time to play at heroes!' retorted Adelaide. 'These people don't need you! They're all going to die, aren't they? What's the use of staying, Leonard?'

  Dr. Petrie turned around, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stared at Adelaide, with her fierce brown eyes, and her brunette curls, and that disturbing, angry, beautiful face.

  'The use — ' he began, uncertainly. 'The use is — '

  'The use is what?' interrupted Adelaide hotly. 'You can't cure them, so what are you going to do for them? Make sure that the last thing they see on earth is your benign and self-sacrificing mug? Leonard, for Christ's sake, you're not Albert Schweitzer!'

  Dr. Petrie was about to answer, but changed his mind. He simply said: 'No, honey, I know I'm not Albert Schweitzer.'

  'Then let's go,' said Adelaide. 'Let's just get out of here while we can.'

  Dr. Petrie nodded. 'I was going to go anyway. I guess I just needed someone to persuade me. I just don't feel very proud of myself.'

  Adelaide sighed. 'Leonard, it's not a question of pride. It's purely a matter of survival.'

  Dr. Petrie sat down heavily, with his face in his hands.

  She knelt down in front of him, and took his hands away. 'You don't have to justify what you do. There doesn't have to be a reason. It's the same with everything. Why did we fall in love? Why do I want to cling on to you so much?'

  'I'm not a great sheltering tree, you know,' said Dr. Petrie. 'I don't even know if I'm a great sheltering man. I feel like a goddamned broken reed at the moment.'

  Aaton Selmer, asleep on the couch, grunted and whispered something. Dr. Petrie gently laid Adelaide's hands aside, and walked over to look at him. The stocky, red-headed doctor looked pale and sweaty. Petrie lifted his wrist and checked his pulse.

  'Is he all right?' asked Adelaide.

  He counted the pulse-rate and respiration-rate. Under his probing, long-fingered hands, Dr. Selmer didn't even stir.

  'I think he's okay,' Dr. Petrie said at last. 'But he's totally exhausted. He needs all the rest he can get.'

  'Are, you going to wake him, and tell him, we're leaving?'

  'I'll try.'

  Dr. Petrie shook Dr. Selmer's shoulder. The sleeping doctor licked his lips, and stirred. Dr. Petrie shook him again.

  'Anton — wake up. It's Leonard.'

  Finally, Dr. Selmer opened his eyes. They were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his mind was completely fuddled. 'Leonard… what's going on? I was dreaming we were playing golf.'

  'Was I winning?'

  'Like hell you were. You were three strokes down. What's going on?'

  Dr. Petrie said awkwardly, 'We've come to a decision. Adelaide and I.'

  Adelaide interrupted, 'We're leaving.'

  'Leaving?' Dr. Selmer sat up. 'I don't understand.'

  Dr. Petrie shrugged. 'We're going to try and make a break. I want to see if I can rescue Prickles, and then maybe we can get through the quarantine cordon and find ourselves a remote place to stay until this whole thing's over.'

  'But supposing you spread the disease beyond Miami? Jesus, Leonard, this thing could wipe out the whole damned United States!'

  'That's why we want to go some place remote,' said Dr. Petrie. 'We can keep ourselves under observation until we're sure that we're clear.'

  'The National Guard will kill you,' said Dr. Selmer. 'You saw what happened to that boy downstairs.'

  'They'll kill us either way,' said Dr. Petrie. 'The rumor's going around that they're going to burn the city down.'

  Dr. Selmer shook his head. 'I don't know what to say. I'm a doctor, and so are you. How can we leave this place?'

  Leonard Petrie couldn't answer that. He didn't know what the answer was. He only knew that all his instinct and personality were telling him now that it was important for him to survive. He completely accepted a doctor's responsibilities to care for his patients, yet he was unable to invest any belief in a hopeless situation. To him, it was like moths flying into the windshields of speeding cars.

  He knelt down be
side Dr. Selmer's settee, and said, 'Anton, I'm not running out. I just don't believe that it's worth sticking around here any longer. We're not doing anyone any good. Least of all ourselves.'

  Dr. Selmer looked thoughtful. "Well,' he said, 'I can't prevent you from going. I won't say I'm not disappointed.'

  "Will you come along with us?'

  Dr. Selmer shook his head. 'No, Leonard. That's my emergency ward down there, and I have to stay whether I like it or not.' He got up from the settee. 'I do feel disappointed, Leonard, but that doesn't mean I don't wish you luck.'

  Dr. Petrie got up from his knees. Dr. Selmer gave him a small, rueful grin. 'I can't hold you back, Leonard. Maybe it's right that you should be the one to go. Someone has to get out of here and tell the people of this country what's happening. Now, if I were you, I'd get my lady out of here as quick as I could, and high-tail it for the city limits before dawn.'

  Dr. Petrie checked his watch. It was already 11:47. 'Okay, Anton,' he said gently. 'But do me a favor, will you?'

  'If you promise to keep on playing such a lousy game of golf in my dreams, I'll do you any favor you want.'

  'Look after yourself. If they start burning the city, do your best to get out. When this is all over, I want you and me to meet up, and have ourselves a couple of drinks at the club, and drown the memory of this goddamned plague forever.'

  Dr. Selmer scratched the back of his gingery neck. 'I think you've got yourself a deal there, Leonard.' The two men clasped hands for a long moment, and then Dr. Petrie took Adelaide by the arm, and led her out into the corridor. As he closed the door behind him, Dr. Selmer called out, 'Please, Leonard — take care.'

  Dr. Petrie nodded, and closed the office door behind him for the last time.

  They pushed their way along the crowded hospital corridors as quickly as they could. Adelaide kept a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, and Dr. Petrie steered her clear of obvious plague cases. There was a background of low muttering and whispering, occasionally interrupted by cries of pain or anguish. People sat and lay everywhere, huddled in comers too sick to move, or gradually dying on their trolleys. The stench of dead bodies was almost too much to bear.

  Two patients, nearly dead themselves, watched with glazed eyes as a doctor, gasping and shuddering with his own plague, tried to inject them with painkilling drugs. In the night outside, the streets echoed with the never-ending wail of sirens.