Kristen hesitated for a moment while reaching behind her head to adjust the clip in her hair. “No. They’re not similar at all. They’re identical.”
Fred threw his calm overboard. “Identical?”
Kristen nodded. “Yes. As far as I can tell, both Peter and Liam have the same symptoms we’ve seen already in the others. Body aches and pains, trembling and shivering, moderate fever, and an inability to keep food down. Amy even gave them water while I was there, and they both vomited it up on the floor, one right after the other.”
“I guess that explains why she didn’t make the meeting,” Sarah Taylor said, hanging her head. She stood steadfastly at her husband’s side, the minimum distance between them never more than mere inches.
“There’s no reason for her to be here now, anyway. Amy knows everything,” Kristen said. “We spoke at length before I left; that’s why I’m a little late showing up.”
“We’ll need to head down and check on her before long if that’s the case,” Kim Mason said. “Poor thing is probably up to her ankles in housework by now. Maybe we can offer her a helping hand.”
“I’d wait a while on that if I were you, Kim,” Kristen said. “She’s pretty distraught. I asked her if she needed anything, and she said not to worry, that she’d find a way. She also said she had no intention of ever leaving the house so long as Peter and Liam are sick. Poor Jacob—he doesn’t know what to do—the house is so quiet. With his dad and brother sick and Amy taking care of them, his entire family is absent.”
“Kristen,” Whitney Schmidt cut in, her hand raised, her voice lacking the contrast it typically carried in abundance. “When we’re done here, could you please do me a favor and check on Scott?”
Kristen cast a concerned look her way. “Does he have a fever?”
Whitney closed her eyes and nodded. “He can’t keep his food down, either. It’s been the same since last week. I know he had trout for dinner the night before Thanksgiving. He offered me some, but I wasn’t feeling it, and Brooke and Brandon hate fish, and now he’s sick and we’re not.”
“I’ll look in on him after we finish here.”
Fred motioned to Kristen. “I hate to be so forward about this, but do we have any idea what we’re dealing with? Or are we still in the process of drawing conclusions?”
“Fred, I’m doing the best I can with a rather limited skill set here,” Kristen shot back. “Admittedly, I am not a doctor. My specialty is stabilizing traumatic injuries and getting patients to the people who can help them.” She paused, looked away from Fred and addressed the group as a whole. “This goes for all of you—I know you have questions, but I want to stress that from here on out, anything you hear from me should in no way be construed as a professional medical opinion—and I mean that. I can only tell you all what I think.”
“Kristen,” Michelle began, “for what it’s worth, not a single one of us here has any medical training to speak of. Like it or not, you’re our only trump card. So whatever information or insight you may have about this is valuable to all of us. I don’t think it’s a good time to start invalidating opinions, either.”
Kristen observed the nods and gestures of acknowledgement a moment, then continued. “The nausea, trembles, body aches, sweats, and other flu-like symptoms are garden variety, and the high fevers are indicative of the body’s immune response to being invaded by a foreign pathogen—again, completely normal. Those symptoms aren’t what worries me. What’s troubling me most is the fact no one is able to keep food down—they’re regurgitating food and water, sometimes violently. The symptoms are lasting way longer than twenty-four hours. That tells me this isn’t viral—it’s something else. Something worse. Actually, as much as I hate to even say this right now, the symptoms, from what I’ve read at least, are a lot like that of typhoid.”
Lauren had been one of only two meeting members seated amongst the church pews. John sat alongside her, his voice and emotions suppressed, his eyes mimicking hers. The couple stared frontward at nothing in particular, and even though they sat inches apart, it might as well have been miles.
The look on Lauren’s face was one of determination. She looked eagerly alert. Her posture was strong, her brow furrowed, and her chin was held high. In a change of pace, she’d let her hair down, and the matted tangles of her natural highlights now lay in layers upon her shoulders.
Kristen rotated her head over her shoulder so she could see the young woman seated in the pew. “Lord knows, Lauren and I haven’t gotten along well in recent months. Part of me feels it’s her fault for being too young and too imprudent and for not respecting her elders. But another part of me feels like it could be all my fault. The blame should fall on me for not realizing just how unique she is, and for not giving her a chance. She’s bold and courageous and frighteningly perceptive. We’re blessed to have her here with us.”
Lauren’s eyes met Kristen’s, and a strange connection was made in the process. Inside, Lauren had never liked Kristen. Kristen had never been one to keep her noninterventionist beliefs a secret and had often made it a point to grandstand them while admonishing others for nothing else other than not agreeing with her. Because of this, Lauren had always considered Kristen an adversary, and before his death, her husband, Michael, had fallen into the same category, having often agreed with his wife only for the sake of it.
The situation had changed. Kristen’s husband, Michael Perry, was dead. He’d died fighting against a common enemy, and ever since, something esoteric within his widow had been forever altered. She’d lost someone in the wake of this reputed collapse—the one person who’d meant the world to her. And now Kristen’s world was broken. Damaged. Forever shattered, never to be returned to her in the condition she’d always known it to be.
Kristen continued. “You all know me, and you know how I feel about things—I don’t usually keep my thoughts hidden. You know I don’t subscribe to conspiracies. I’ve never believed for a second the government is out to get us, and part of me still doesn’t.” She paused, turning her attention back to the group. “I don’t feel violence is ever the answer. I think it’s used far too often to solve problems that can be solved by other means. But violence has a broad spectrum; it’s not always about killing. It can also be used to intimidate, force beliefs, or impose submission. I’ve read a lot about the history of the world—and those books have told it just like that. Violence isn’t always loud and in your face like a gunshot. Sometimes, it can be tranquil and occur quietly without us even knowing.”
Fred’s jaw tightened. “Kristen—”
“Sorry, Fred. What I’m trying to say is that I’d be lying to everyone here if I said I didn’t think Lauren Russell was…onto something.”
A moment of silence filled the chamber.
“Let me get this straight,” Michelle began. “You’re agreeing with Lauren’s theory? You think we’ve somehow been purposely poisoned?”
Kristen nodded. “Taking all the evidence into consideration, I do.” She paused as her constituents stirred. “Everything points to it. We’re not dealing with the common cold or the flu or any household or garden-variety illness. It’s not isolated—it’s affecting multiple households, but not every person in each household is sick and not every household is affected, either. I think it’s damn suspect that those who got sick are the ones who drink creek water nearly every day, or who’ve eaten fish caught from it.”
Whitney Schmidt gasped. She put a palm over her mouth and hung her head low. “Lord, help us.”
“I’m sorry, Whitney,” said Kristen. “I really am. I don’t want to be the one who declares it so, but I think our water supply has somehow been contaminated. With what, I have no idea.”
Fred turned his head to Christian, his stare somewhat less distrustful than it had been in previous encounters with the man. “Christian, you got any insight? Anything you can add to this that might help us along?”
Christian’s eyes met with Fred’s, but his head didn’t move.
“I saw the animal carcasses and piles of fruit Lauren was talking about when I went up the mountain,” he said. “And I made out at least two or three sets of boot tracks not far away, with the same tread as the boots I wear. It’s too convenient—we’d be foolish to pass this off as happenstance. If all of you recall, last month I spoke about the DHS’s use of contingency plans—”
Whitney jumped in. “Wait—are you saying this—that poisoning is one of them?”
“I’m saying it wouldn’t surprise me. It’s particularly heinous, and it fits their MO,” Christian said, sulking. “Like I’ve said before, there’s no rule in existence preventing them from using whatever means they deem necessary to achieve their mission. I’m really sorry. I wish I had something better to say, and I know I haven’t exactly made a habit of bringing good news to the table. I know it sucks, but…I agree with Kristen. I think Lauren’s intuition is dead-on in this case.”
Fred nodded and his lips curled to the side. “Okay. No point in deliberating over it anymore, then. These findings in themselves should be cause for us to begin taking appropriate steps,” he said. “Let’s consider our options. Assume we are dealing with a poisoning of some kind, Kristen. Where do we go from this point forward?”
Kristen looked around, her brow raised. “First, before I answer, does everyone here really want to know what I think?”
A moment passed with no one offering a negative gesture or reply.
“Okay. First, the obvious,” Kristen began. “No more sourcing water from Trout Run, not for anything. No eating food from the creek, or even food that may have drank from it. We cannot risk any more of us getting sick. I know it’s going to be hard, especially right now—but stick with whatever stored food you have left.”
“For how long?” Kim Mason asked.
“For a while,” replied Kristen. “I honestly don’t know the answer to that, Kim.”
Kim placed two fingers to her lips and turned her head away. “For a while,” she repeated softly, almost to herself.
“Kim, I know what you’re thinking,” Kristen began. “I know I’ve been asleep at the wheel lately after Michael’s…death, but I know what’s been going on, and I know, especially after all that’s happened, that we’re in dire straits. Losing the Taylors’ farm was a huge setback for all of us, and now we’re looking at yet another major hardship—for the foreseeable future, we can no longer hunt or fish for food. To top it all off, something is wrong with our key water source, and some of us have gotten sick because of it.”
Bo Brady stepped forward, making his otherwise covert presence today known to the group. “Fred and I have spoken a few times before about a way I know to fix our food situation,” he said, turning his gaze to Fred. “You think the time’s come to consider my plan, Fred?”
Fred held up a hand. “Bo, I have every intention of doing so, just not at this moment. I think we have bigger fish to fry.”
Bo shrugged. “Okay. I just didn’t want you to forget, that’s all.”
“I haven’t forgotten, nor will I,” Fred said. “Just been a little sidetracked by our most recent finding. Your offer concerns food, and that makes it a priority, just not the priority. Now, I don’t want to speak for everyone here, but I think we should triage our dilemmas and deal with the ones posing the highest threat to us first.”
“Nice choice of words,” Kristen said, almost grinning at Fred.
Fred nodded. “Thought you’d like that.” He held out an open hand. “Go on then, Kristen. You have the floor.”
“Okay, well, first things first, we’re already pooling together our provisions, but we also need to pool all of our medical supplies together in one place. As it stands, our biggest necessity is antibiotics—so if you have some, get it and bring it to me. And I don’t care if all you have is a bottle of five-year-old expired amoxicillin in your medicine cabinet, I want it.” Kristen took a breath and folded her arms. “God knows, I’d much rather have doxycycline or azithromycin right now, but I’ll take what I can get. Once we tally together what we have, we start dosing the patients with the worst symptoms, using the strongest of the unexpired batches, and go from there.”
Fred spoke up. “We have some fish antibiotics stored in our preps that we can drag out. Seems like the perfect occasion for it. Kim can show you where they are, Kristen. Consider them at the community’s disposal.”
“Fish antibiotics?” Whitney quizzed. “Are you serious, Fred?”
Fred’s eyes darted to her. “There’s no difference between them and the ones we take, other than you don’t need a prescription for the pet aquarium variety.”
“He’s right, Whitney. They’re named differently, and the doses aren’t equivalent, but it’s the same stuff,” Kristen explained.
Whitney remained indifferent. “It just seems weird, taking medicine that’s made for an animal not even in the same class as us.” She sighed. “So long as they work, I suppose.”
Christian reached out to Kristen and handed her a half-used bottle of clindamycin, the same bottle she had given him on the day she had responded to treat his gunshot injuries, his first official day in the valley. “Turns out, I didn’t need many of them,” he said. “I was going to give them back to you, I just didn’t know when the right time would be.”
“I’d almost forgotten about these,” Kristen said, her eyes drawn to the patient’s name on the label, that of her late husband. She rolled her lips between her teeth and shook off an incoming feeling of sorrow. “Michael got them when he had a bad abscess. It’s a strong antibiotic and a heck of a welcome start. Thank you, Christian.”
Bryan Taylor, who had his daughter, Emily’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck said, “Guys, there’s a large pile of pharmaceuticals in that mess of crap left behind by those bikers. At first glance, most of it looks to be things like Xanax, Vicodin, and Adderall, but there might be something buried in the pile we can use.”
“Bryan and I will go through it all when we get back,” his wife, Sarah, offered, to the group’s approval. “We’ll just need to keep an eye out for ornery syringes.”
Kim lifted a hand. “It might be a good idea to relocate the ill to a single location. That way Kristen doesn’t have to drive all over cock robin’s barn to check in on them. I’ll volunteer our basement for that. As most of you have seen, there’s plenty of unused space there.”
“I appreciate that, Kim,” Kristen said. “Also, I know I’m big on mainstream medicine, but I don’t want us to overlook anything unconventional that could help us. Right now, we need all our cards on the table. So if anyone knows of any homeopathic, naturopathic, holistic, or even herbal remedies, please speak up.”
Michelle felt a chill take a stroll up her spine. At the mention of the word herbal, she recalled the gardens she’d seen when she had taken Alex home and met her one-of-a-kind family. “Guys, I think I might know of someone who might know a bit about the topic.”
“Who might that be?” pondered Fred.
“Alex’s mom. Jesseca,” Michelle replied. “Whom you didn’t have the pleasure of meeting that day, Fred. She has the most amazing gardens I’ve ever seen. She told me that day, all the medicine they use is grown. She even referred to herself as an amateur apothecary. They have quite the library, too. I’ve never seen so many books on medicinal plants.”
Kristen’s interest was piqued. “Do you think she’d help us?”
Michelle shrugged. “I don’t know. They prefer to keep to themselves—for a wealth of legitimate reasons. But in light of what’s happening here, I think I should head that way soon and pose the question.”
Kristen nodded and smiled. “Great idea. Now, I’m not discounting anything we’ve talked about this far, but I do want to say this now, with urgency: we desperately need to seek out real medical assistance. A doctor. Someone with experience, someone who knows what to do. This situation is already bad enough, not to mention clearly over my head.”
“Where the hell would we find a doctor
now?” Whitney lamented.
“At one time, there were two or three doctors living near Wardensville, if I recall correctly,” Kristen said. “Of those, my first choice would be finding Dr. Vincent. He owned the family practice in town and used to come by the fire department to teach classes on CPR and wilderness first aid. He was a general practitioner, but he was also an avid hunter—really big on guns and outdoor sports. He and his wife had a cabin and a decent amount of land near the Cacapon River, just outside of town. I’d imagine, if any of them are still around now, it would most likely be him.”
“So let me get this straight, Kristen,” Whitney griped. “You believe that even if we put everything we have together on the table, all the things we’ve just discussed, there’s no way to fight this thing?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. The time has come for us to get drastic,” Kristen said. “Let’s be realistic. Winter is right around the corner, and without food, we’re all dead in a matter of months anyway. But without proper—and I do mean proper medical treatment for the sick, we’re talking weeks or even days. I don’t even want to think about what it will be like if any more of us gets sick.”
Whitney turned away and took a seat on the altar, her head in her hands. Kim sat down beside her to offer consolation.
“I’m sorry, Whitney,” Kristen said. “I wish there was more I could do, but I know when I’m out of my league. I know finding a doctor right now isn’t going to be easy, but neither is finding food. And we just can’t sit here and wait to see what happens when we need both. We have to try.”
“Anyone disagree with what Kristen is proposing?” Fred asked, directing his question to the group and, without objection, continued. “Well, that settles it. Sounds to me like we’re going on a little road trip.”
Fred turned and took a step past his wife onto the altar so he could stand above the others. “Kristen, I want you to know we appreciate everything you’ve done and continue to do. We’re indebted. If you need anything, anything at all that we haven’t spoken about today, just say the word.”
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