I was able to get two ibuprofens in him before he nearly choked on the third.
His body shook and shivered. I fed the fire to make it stronger and spent the night using my damp shirt to wipe him down, to try to break the fever. Our bottled water was scarce, and he needed that more than me.
Lane exuded so much heat, it absorbed all moisture from the shirt I used on his forehead.
I wasn’t a medical professional, and I had very little knowledge other than what I saw on television or in movies.
My medical knowledge was limited to what I saw on Chicago ER.
At first, I thought it was something called dry downing. Where he was drowning in the remaining fluid in his lungs, but that didn’t explain the fever.
A fever meant he was battling an infection.
The only thing I could think of was pneumonia. The river water would have bacteria.
The weather was no longer a threat we faced, whatever was conquering my husband was.
Help was so far away. I could do it, I could make a run for it, but I was fearful of leaving Lane alone.
Not in his state.
I managed to get the fever down a little, enough for me to close my eyes. Curled up next to him I slept a few hours, waking up with every little sound he made.
He was lethargic and tried so hard to appear as if he wasn’t out of it. His speech was slow, as was his movements.
I kept telling him to look at the sky, see how blue it was and to feel the warmth of the sun, something we hadn’t seen in a while.
Everything around us looked hopeful, but Lane looked dismal.
He started coughing again, to me that was a good sign. But it was a struggling cough. I could hear it, a cough that wanted to expel the sickness, but wasn’t quite able to.
With the sun out and the weather better, I kept thinking people would be out. They would be driving, and I waited.
Someone would come.
They never did.
By late morning I knew I had to try to get to the truck. Get him into one of the small towns, find a pharmacy and get medication.
I hated, absolutely hated the thought of leaving him behind on the median strip of grass, but I had no choice.
I told Lane, “I’m going to go and try to get the truck. I’ll be back.”
Lane was stubborn, he insisted he could walk.
I carried most of the heavy items, allowing him to only carry the light stuff. I wanted to leave things behind, but the heavy stuff was the gas and water.
Of course, we only managed to get a couple gallons of gas. Enough for the truck to take us across that bridge.
We walked slow, stopping a lot.
He staggered as he walked, dragging his feet, swaying.
When Lane spoke, his words were airy, almost speaking through an exhaustion. Of course, he didn’t speak much. It made him winded between trying to talk and walking, then he’d fall into a coughing fit. That was the only time he had color to his face.
We hadn’t gone far, a smidgeon over two miles, when Lane had to take another break.
“This isn’t going to work,” I told him. “You’re sick.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t. You can’t keep going.” I shook my head. “I can take the gas, put it in the truck, then come back and get you. We’ll find medicine. I know there’s enough gas for that.”
Finally, he relented, and I helped him over to the median area, propping him up on our supplies to make him comfortable. His water was within reach and he shivered. His fever was back, and he kept saying he was cold. I gave him a blanket asking for him not to cover up unless he absolutely had to.
I knew ‘sweating out the fever’ was old school and dangerous. Lane wouldn’t listen, I knew that. The moment I was out of sight he’d cover up.
I kissed him and promised him I would be right back.
I took the gas can with me and a bottle of water a third of the way full.
I absolutely hated leaving him on the road like that. I feared he would die or need help. It reminded me of the scene from 'The Stand' when they left Stu behind.
Only I knew I’d be back, and me leaving him behind was the only way to help him.
Even as I walked away, I could hear him coughing.
I moved at a quick pace I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up. I had no idea where the truck was or if it was still there.
To me, it had to be there, the wave hadn’t washed that far.
We had already gone nine miles from the RV, I didn’t think it was much farther.
I kept checking the mile markers and my watch, I couldn’t believe I wasn’t making faster progress. A part of me believed I had to have missed one.
They say the average person walks three miles an hour. I was walking faster than that when I first started, and then I slowed down.
Finally, I saw it and my speed picked back up.
The truck was four miles from where I left Lane. And it took me a little under two hours to get there.
I opened the driver’s door and as Martin said, the keys were in the cup holder. Reaching down behind the seat I opened the gas cap.
The funnel for the cans was in the back of the truck with the empty canisters, I found it, attached it and emptied the small amount of gas into the truck.
I wasn’t even sure it would start.
I remembered the things my own father had told me the numerous times I ran out of gas in my youth.
Unsure if the same tactics would work in the pickup, I tapped the gas pedal twice put the key in the on position and waited.
After giving it a few seconds, I closed my eyes and turned the ignition.
It made the noise but didn’t turn over.
Again, I tried. “Please, please, please start.” I turned it again and tapped the accelerator pedal.
It started.
There was no time to waste. Fearful it would die again, I hurriedly placed it in gear and pulled forward.
The needle on the gas gauge barely moved above E. But it was above E and that was enough to get to Lane and get close to Crow.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t envision my husband dead the entire five minutes it took to get back to him.
I drove fast, hands clutching the wheel and leaning close to it as if that made a difference. I kept the truck running when I arrived back.
In a panicked state, heart racing out of control, I ran to him yelling out, “Lane!”
I saw him look over his shoulder at me and I exhaled strongly. I still shook, my mind had gotten away from me.
The first thing I did was help Lane into the truck.
He sat in the passenger’s seat and his head tilted my way. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “I promise, I will kick this thing’s butt.”
“I know you will. But we’re gonna get you some medication to help you fight.” I kissed him softly. I could feel the fever on his lips. Stepping back, I closed the door.
I probably could have put the stuff in the back end of the truck a little better. I just tossed it in and made sure we had everything.
Martin’s radio charger was in the truck and I put the radio in the charging stand.
Hopefully it would charge, and I could let Martin know.
For the time being, my focus was to get him off the highway and somewhere comfortable, then find what he needed.
I was scared, too scared my attempts would be in vain. Looking at my husband, so sick, I feared I was going to lose him no matter what I did.
TWENTY-THREE – WHITE RABBIT
There was absolutely nothing in Crow. I hadn’t paid attention when we rolled through, having set our sights immediately on the warehouse. It was a community made up of homes, each spread a good distance apart.
When we had left the day before, it was in the middle of a fierce storm and there was six inches of water on the ground.
It was still there. Something big rolled in after we left. Flattening homes. The entire area looked like a lake,
all I saw was water and had it not been for the broken trees and partial remains of homes, I wouldn’t have known if I was driving on the road.
It was a scary situation. The needle was kissing E and there was nothing around. I had to keep driving and hoping.
A mile or so beyond Crow, as the water lessened, I saw the first person since we hit West Virginia. A man stood in the road, frantically waving his hands for me to stop.
He stood on the road outside of what looked like the remains of a church.
The man wasn’t much older than us and I really didn’t want to stop.
He didn’t look hurt, but he did appear just as disheveled as we did.
What kind of person would I be if I kept going? Then again what kind of fool would I be if I stopped, and he took the truck?
“What’s wrong?” Lane asked. “Are we stopping?”
“There’s a man in the road waving for me to stop.”
“Have the gun ready,” he said, then coughed.
“It’s in the back.”
“Jana, it’s not supposed to be in the …” he didn’t finish his sentence, he broke into a coughing spell.
Stopping the truck, I wound down the window part way.
The man spoke desperately. “Any way I can get a ride with you folks? I’ll ride in the back?”
“I don’t know how far we’ll get,” I told him. “I’m almost out of gas and my husband is sick. I think it’s pneumonia.”
“Do you think you have two miles left in the tank?” he asked. “Daniels is a couple miles west. They have drug stores. That’s where I’m trying to get.”
“What’s the next nearest?” I asked.
“About ten miles. Maybe they’ll be gas there. But I don’t know if they were hit.”
“Let him in,” Lane said, using all of his strength to scoot to the center of the seat.
“Get in,” I told him.
“Thank you.”
He hurried around the front of the truck and got inside. He didn’t have any belongings, nothing in his hands, just the clothes on his back. A dark blue shirt and a pair of jeans.
“Sturgis,” he introduced himself, closing the door. “And again, thank you.”
“I’m Jana and this is my husband Lane.”
“My God, I can feel the heat from this man. How long’s he been sick?”
“Since last night. We got wiped out with water, he nearly drowned.”
“Maybe there will be someone in Daniels who will help. I know they were evacuating people to storm centers in Beckley” Sturgis said. “You’ll see a turn up here to the right. Take it.”
“Are you from around here?”
“Beckley. I work maintenance at the church. I was trying to get it secure, thought I did, but then a big one rolled in yesterday morning. I don’t need to tell you, you probably got caught in it.”
“I don’t know what we got caught in,” I replied.
“Me either. It was a hurricane on land.”
Immediately, I thought of Reverend Barrows and what he had said. How massive that storm front had to be.
“I appreciate the ride,” he said. “Man, this guy is hot.”
Lane replied, sounding dopey and tired. “Thanks, my wife thinks so, too.”
Sturgis laughed and I laughed.
Lane was joking. That was a good sign.
Unfortunately, what we approached wasn’t.
The water wasn’t as deep, an inch or so on the road, but as we approached Daniels, it was a mobile home cemetery. The metal structures that were once homes for people spread out everywhere as if they were dropped from the sky. Most were torn apart, fiberglass sticking out of the broken edges.
Furniture was scattered about, and I had to weave in and out to avoid hitting anything. I groaned out. “Please don’t let this be the whole town.”
“No, something has got to be standing,” Sturgis said. “Even if we have to pick through the rubble, we’ll find some meds for this man. Something.”
I slammed the brakes, causing the truck to hydroplane a few feet and the back end swerved.
A body was in the middle of the road and it wasn’t the only one.
They, like furniture were everywhere.
“Hold on,” Sturgis said and opened the door, stepping out.
I put the truck in park. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving the door open, I stepped out of the truck. My foot splashed in the water and my hand shot to my mouth. Not only from the shock, but the smell. Immediately, I closed the door and walked to Sturgis.
“All these people,” he said, stunned, just looking left and right. “They were supposed to be gone. Beckley is surrounded by a lot of hills. You know, natural protection. Why didn’t they leave?”
“I think through this we all made mistakes and choices we wish we didn’t.”
“Yeah.” He faced me. “Like me leaving my wife and kid to protect my job.”
“You said they thought Beckley was safe, right? Maybe they’re fine.”
“I can walk, it’s only five miles. I’ll walk if I have to. Right now, we need to find Lane either a doctor or medicine or both.” He looked back to the road. “Go on in the truck, I’ll clear a path.”
“Thank you.”
I walked back to the truck and got inside. I was grateful for what he was doing. Carefully pulling the bodies out of the way.
It was a good fifty yards that he walked ahead of me, moving objects and people. I knew it had to be hard for him, it was hard for me to watch.
But like finding help for Lane, moving those bodies was something that had to be done.
It just wasn’t something I thought about. In my mind, when I first left home to stop at Martin’s, I knew it was coming, but I thought I would be safe and underground the whole time. That I wouldn’t see anything or experience it.
Little did I even realize my family and I would be in the thick of it all from start to finish.
Now here I was, the finish line of the storm and it was far from being over.
It was a whole new world or at least a whole new country.
No rescue crews, no Red Cross, no one to help rebuild.
Buildings flattened, so many dead and those who lived and survived, what did they have left?
Where would they go to even begin to rebuild?
The reset button had been pressed.
Slate clean.
And things were a mess.
✽✽✽
Everything was leveled, from the Cornerstone IGA all along the main road that cut through what was more of a suburb than anything else.
In the distance I could see the word ‘Sheetz’ as it swung from the tall metal posts that once hung it.
Sturgis explained it was a chain gas station with food and maybe we could find a way to get gas there. But by the looks of the sign, I didn’t think anything remained of the building.
But I was wrong. As we made it through the edge of town nearer to Beckley, the buildings weren’t as destroyed. Roofs were partially missing, windows busted, but the basic structures remained and when I saw the Walgreens it was a godsend.
And just in the nick of time.
The truck sputtered, shook and after a loud backfiring sound it just died.
But we made it and I was certain in that store we’d find what we needed.
Although it wasn’t as if Walgreens wasn’t a mess, it was. The storm tore part of the roof from the building, the windows were shattered and when we went inside, whatever blasted through Daniels had enough force to topple shelves.
Before getting Lane out of the truck, I made a bed out of a patio lounge chair and helped my husband inside.
Sturgis had found some Gatorade and insisted that Lane sip it no matter how much he didn’t want to.
While he worked on that bottle, Sturgis and I went to the pharmacy.
We needed antibiotics and we began our search.
Daniels was located in a low lying area just outside of Beckley. Actually, it
was part of Beckley, I learned that when barely into our search for medication, two volunteer fire fighters showed up.
The sound of the truck backfiring carried in the silent town and they sought us out.
I saw only the first firefighter. A young man, college aged, calling out, “Hello. Anyone back there?”
I was on the floor, shuffling through the bottles, trying to read labels. The sound of his voice not only startled me but caught my attention and I popped up from behind the counter.
He wore the hat, more than likely to protect his head, and his firefighter pants with the suspenders hanging down on the sides.
I stared at him with that deer in the headlight look.
He looked over his shoulder. “Billy, I found two. Looking for drugs.”
“No, No … not drugs.” I scurried over the counter. “Medication.”
He looked at the bottle of pills in my hand with a disbelieving, ‘Oh, really’ kind of look.
My eyes shifted to the label, ‘Hydrocodone Bitartrate’. “What … what is it?” I stuttered nervously. “I didn’t even know what I grabbed. My husband is …”
“Den,” the other male voice called out. I could tell just by the sound of him, he was older. “Forget those guys. This one is pretty bad. We need to get him in.”
Thinking, ‘get him in’, my eyes widened with the revelation that the other man, Billy, meant getting my husband to some help.
Excitedly, I shoved the bottle of pills to Den with a, “here’ and raced back to the front of the store.
Another firefighter was there. He was crouched down by the lounge chair, an open, red first aid kit was on the floor.
“Oh my God, can you help him?” I asked, rushing forward. “I was trying to find penicillin in the back.”
“This man needs more than a few pills. His fever is 103, pulse rapid, breathing labored.” The older firefighter, Billy glanced up at him. “We need to transport him now.”
“To a hospital?” I questioned with excitement. “You can get him to a hospital?”
“Not much of one left, but we have medical help in Beckley,” Billy replied. “We have to take him now.”
“Sturgis” I hollered. “Help from Beckley is here!” I dropped down to the floor by Lane. “Sweetie.” I ran my hand down his face. “You’re gonna get some help. This man is going to get you help.” I looked at Billy. “Thank you.”
Winds of Ares: An Apocalypse Thriller Page 16