by Nancy Isaak
* * * *
The drugs were in a large, locked room at the back of the garage. There were shelves all along the side, no doubt once for car parts. Now, they were covered with tiny little boxes, bottles, and vials.
Over in one corner was a barrel filled with crutches. Next to it was a box of bandages and sterile wipes. Meanwhile, the shelves overhead were dipping from the weight of a half dozen crates of hydrogen-peroxide bottles.
“After what happened to the pharmacy at Webb Way, we figured that it was probably smart to bring everything here,” Ru explained. “This way we could control it.”
“Is this everything?” asked Porter, moving slowly alongside the shelves—reading labels and checking them against his PDR.
“Lock, stock, and two smoking barrels,” said Ru. “We also cleared out Pavilions, by the way. Got those things in another building on the property.”
“You guys have been busy,” I said, impressed. “I had no idea.”
“Well, you had no idea,” he said, cryptically.
“What does that mean?”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t we let Baby-Doc here do his shopping in peace? You and I can go get another glass of lemonade—maybe have a little discussion.”
“What can I take?” asked Porter. “You’ve got the list of what we can give you. What will those things get us?”
Ru snorted, amused. “Dude…you take what you need. But only that. If you need more, you come back. That way we’re all covered.”
“But the trade,” said Porter, confused. “What about the trade?”
“Get your drugs,” ordered Ru. “Me and Jacob will be outside discussing the details.”
* * * *
We sat on a low wall, just across from the cage. There were only a few boys around now—the novelty of new visitors having worn off, I guessed. Joe was across the way, sharpening his machete in a way that I was certain was supposed to intimidate me.
Off to the right, meanwhile, I could see a group of boys cooking something over an open pit. Beside them, another couple of boys were sorting through boxes of canned soups. To the left—across from them—was a single boy, washing clothes in a big tub.
“Where are you getting your water from?” I asked. “Bottles?”
“We’re keeping most of the bottled water we have in reserve,” Ru explained. “There’s a small creek that flows through the west end of the property. It’s not as big as the one you’ve got going through your place. Ours is tiny—no bigger than a hand’s width, and it tends to dry up every now and then. But we’ve also set up a system to bring up water from the bottom of the cliff. There’s another creek coming down from the mountains there.”
“Too bad we can’t just drink from the ocean,” I said. “Heck of a lot of water right out our back door.”
“I’ve got a couple of geek boys who are pretty good with the science stuff,” said Ru. “They said—if things get tough—we can turn the salt water into drinking water. It’ll just take time and a lot of effort.”
“Good to know.”
I took a long sip of my lemonade, watching as the kid finished his washing. Now, another boy joined him, helping to hang the laundry on lines strung throughout the trees.
“What do you want, Ru?” I finally asked. “For the medicine?”
“Well, here’s the thing.” His tone was serious and he moved closer, as if he didn’t want anyone overhearing. “I wasn’t joking about Baby-Doc.”
“You want Porter?!”
“No.” Ru shook his head. “We want his services.”
“But—our guys need him.”
“So do ours.”
* * * *
It turned out that there were eight Locals sick.
Ru had converted a long hallway in one of the houses into a medical ward—beds on either side. It was a smart move on Ru’s part because it made it easier to walk from patient-to-patient. Plus, one wall of the hallway was made up entirely of windows, so there was more than enough natural light to see during the daytime without using candles.
“You’d spend half the day taking care of your guys,” Ru told Porter, as we walked along the hallway. “The other half—you’d come here and help us.”
“And you’ll let us have all the medicine if I do?” asked Porter.
Ru nodded. “But if it gets to be too much, then we consolidate—bring all the sick here. You take care of them at our place.”
“I don’t know if Connor would come if that happens,” murmured Porter. “And I’d need his help.”
“He’ll come if I ask,” said Ru, confident. “As long as he knows that Joe won’t hurt him. Plus, there’ll be some of our guys who can help you.”
We reached the end of the hallway and the last bed.
It was a small boy—about 11-years old. He was unconscious, his body trembling, and covered in sweat. Sitting beside him and holding his hand was the redheaded kid from before.
“You,” said Porter to the redhead. “Go put a mask and some gloves on. I know you’ve got them. I saw them on a table as we came in here.”
The kid didn’t move; instead, he looked to Ru for instruction.
“You heard the Doc,” said Ru. “He’s in charge here now.”
“And bring me back a pair,” ordered Porter. “Now.”
Immediately, the kid got up and raced out of the room.
“That’s Xavier,” explained Ru. “And this is his brother, Nate. We found them out at Trancas, at the supermarket there. Nate was already sick and out of it. Xavier was standing over his body with an axe, threatening to chop up anybody who got near.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Joe happened,” Ru grinned. “Dude simply walked up, grabbed the axe by the handle, and the kid by the scruff of his neck. Would’ve been pretty funny if Nate hadn’t been so sick.”
Xavier raced back, wearing gloves and a mask. He handed a second pair to Porter, who quickly put them on.
“Where’s your thermometer?” asked Porter.
Ru motioned to another boy who brought over a basket. Inside was an old-style mouth thermometer, stethoscope, and a blood pressure cuff. Porter took the thermometer, gave it a quick shake, and stuck it into Nate’s mouth.
The sick boy groaned and thrashed around a little.
“Hold the thermometer right there,” Porter ordered Xavier. Then, he picked up the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, looking at them.
“You know how to use those?” asked Ru.
Porter replaced them in the basket. “Not yet,” he said, honestly. “But I will.”
* * * *
Because Porter was worried about the condition of a couple of Ru’s guys, he had decided to stay with the Locals for a few more hours. Meanwhile, I would run the medication back to Connor who—apparently—would know what to do with it.
“Unless Connor needs you, I want you back as soon as possible, okay?”
I was loading up boxes of medicine onto a bike that Ru was lending me, while Porter stood close by, gnawing on a fingernail.
“Are you thinking that something is going to happen while I’m gone?” I asked Porter.
“Not with me,” he said. “But that kid, Nate—his temperature is really high and Xavier said that he hasn’t been awake in almost four days.”
“You think he might die?”
“Not if I can help it.”
* * * *
Ru went with me as far as the street. As we reached the junction, he stopped and got off of his bike. I stopped also—waiting—a little impatient.
“Dude,” he frowned. “One other thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“Remember when we talked about my boys taking everything out of Pavilions and the pharmacy?”
“You said that I didn’t know that you’d emptied the store,” I said. “Kind of like someone else did know.”
“Exactly like someone else knew,” Ru said. “Somebody who was skulking around, the night after we cleared
out Pavilions.”
I groaned. “Please don’t tell me that Kieran and Brandon tried to get into the store again.”
“Oh, they got in,” said Ru. “Because we let them. I had guys hidden, watching them pass through the doors. We didn’t stop them, though—it’s not like there was anything in there anymore for them to take, so no skin off our backs, right?”
“When was this?” I sighed—disappointed.
“A couple of nights ago—about 2 a.m.”
I suddenly felt better.
“That wasn’t them,” I said, confident. “They were on watch duty. They’ve been on the graveyard shift every night this week.”
“Sorry, dude,” said Ru. “But those boys are not the most reliable to have up on that roof guarding you guys.”
“You’re saying that they’ve been leaving their post?”
“Every single night.”
“Are you absolutely certain it was them?”
“You be the judge,” Ru suggested. “My guys watched them tear up the store. Figured they were angry cause all the booze was gone. Your big guy—”
“Brandon.”
“Well, he took his shotgun and blasted out all the windows. Glass was everywhere. Then your brother—what’s his name again?”
“Kieran.”
“Kieran decided he wanted to be a street artist.”
“He graffitied?”
“More like—he wrote a poem.”
“Oh god!” I groaned again. “What did he write?”
Ru grinned as he recited:
“My big brother is a prick,
funny cause he has a small dick,
country bumpkin-what a hick,
my big brother—prick, hick, dick.”
I shook my head—embarrassed.
“Look,” said Ru, all serious now. “He’s your brother, I get it. You want to protect him. But this Point has to have rules if we’re going to survive on it together.”
“I agree,” I said, quietly.
“So, you need to get those two under control,” Ru ordered. “Otherwise me and my boys—we’re going to have to do the job for you. And—just for the record—it wasn’t just Pavilions those boys have been getting into. They’ve been all over the Point, shooting out windows, trashing houses. We just can’t have that here. You see that, right?”
“I’ll take care of it,” I sighed. “I promise.”
“Make sure that you do.” He got back on his bike, prepared to leave.
“Ru?”
“What?” he asked, turning back.
“Just for the record,” I murmured. “It’s not small.”
* * * *
Connor practically ripped the antibiotics out of my hand.
“How are they doing?” I asked, as he prepared Rhys’ first dose.
“Not too bad considering,” he said. “Where’s Porter?”
“He’s going to stay there a little while longer. Unless he’s needed back here. Some of Ru’s guys are sick.”
“With the same thing our guys have?”
“Porter thinks so. I’m going to go back again in a few minutes unless you need me here.”
“No, I’m good. Kieran’s been helping me.”
* * * *
I walked with Connor up to the second floor. Just outside of Rhys’ door was a pile of plastic gloves and masks. Connor picked up a pair of gloves and placed them on. His mask was already around his face.
“You shouldn’t go in,” he said. “Rhys is sleeping right now anyway. I’ll send Kieran out to talk to you.”
He turned and opened Rhys’ door. For the few moments it was open, I could see Rhys, sweaty and unconscious in his bed. A gloved and masked Kieran was sitting beside him, using a facecloth to clean our brother gently off.
Then, the door closed—and my brothers disappeared.
* * * *
When Kieran finally came out of Rhys’ room five minutes later, he looked exhausted.
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
Kieran pulled off his gloves and mask and sat down against the wall. “His temperature seems pretty stable. It’s not normal, but it’s not really high either,” he yawned. “Plus, he had some soup this morning. I’ll try to get some more into him when he wakes up. He needs the fuel, so he can fight this thing.”
“Did Connor tell you that I’m going back to the Locals? Porter is still there.”
He nodded, yawning again. “Said that some of the guys are sick.”
“Eight of them. We might just move them and our guys all together if this continues. Make it easier to take care of them all.”
Another yawn. “Okay.”
“You seem pretty tired,” I told him. “You sure you’re good to stay with Rhys if I go back and help Porter?”
“I’m fine,” he nodded. “Go do what you’ve got to do. If anything gets worse, we’ll come and get you.”
“Thanks, bro.” I leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder in gratitude. Even as I looked down, however—Kieran’s eyes were fluttering shut. Seconds later, he was snoring.
JOURNAL ENTRY #20
I can’t believe how crazy this day has been!
When I got back to the junction on Dume Drive this afternoon, Joe was already there, waiting for me.
“Hurry!” was all he said.
* * * *
The area around the two guest houses was in an uproar.
Boys were running this way and that—some carrying ropes, others—a giant block and tackle.
“What’s going on?” I yelled to Joe. We had left our bikes beside a wall and were running toward the medical unit.
Joe didn’t say a word—just kept running.
* * * *
Boys were crowded around the end of the hallway when we entered. Joe merely pushed them all aside, giving us space to race by.
“Put on gloves and a mask!” yelled Porter, from the far end of the room. “They’re in the basket over there!”
I followed his instructions—putting on the gear—then raced to his side. “What’s happening?”
“It’s Nate’s temperature…I can’t get it down!” he barked. “It just keeps going higher.”
The boy on the bed was soaked with sweat. His head was turning from side to side and he was moaning.
“We’re ready, Porter!” I turned to see Ru and Xavier at the far end of the hallway. They were both putting on gloves and masks.
“All right,” said Porter. “Let’s get him set up. Jacob, I need you to grab those belts there. We’re going to slide them under Nate and tie him up tight, right in his sheets. Like a burrito…understand?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Ru and Xavier raced over, as well as three other guys—all gloved and masked. We all began binding Nate up.
“Tight as you can,” ordered Porter. “We can’t have him slipping out.”
Joe joined us—also wearing protective gear. As soon as we’d finished securing Nate, Joe reached down to pick him up.
“Need help?” asked Ru.
“Screw you,” said Joe.
I could swear the big guy was grinning behind his mask as he tossed Nate over his shoulder. Next thing I knew, Joe was running out with the kid—as if he weighed nothing at all.
The rest of us struggled to keep up.
* * * *
“Anybody want to tell me what we’re doing?” I asked, as we ran along. Joe was still far ahead of us, racing along the trail—heading toward the cliff’s edge.
“Nate’s body temperature is too high,” puffed Porter. “According to my manuals, he’s probably going to have a seizure if we don’t bring it down.”
“How do we do that?”
Poor Porter didn’t respond. His lack of athleticism and poor conditioning dropped him on the spot. He fell to his knees—puking.
I quickly ran back, kneeling down beside him. “Porter?”
“I’ll…catch…up!” he gasped, waving me on. “Get…him…down!”
Honestly—I had no
idea what Porter was talking about. When I looked around for the others, they were too far ahead to call back.
“GO!” bellowed Porter—then, he leaned over and puked once more.
* * * *
“Holy crap!” I cried, when I reached the edge of the cliff.
Ru and his boys were in the process of attaching Nate in his sheet-burrito to the giant block and tackle that I’d seen previously. It was suspended over the cliff—a complicated rope and pulley system that would lower Nate to the beach over a hundred feet below.
“Where’s Porter?” asked Ru, looking behind me.
“Winded. He’ll come when he can. What’s going on?”
“Porter says that Nate needs to be cooled down fast,” explained Ru. “That means the ocean—and the quickest way down.”
“Oh my god,” I exclaimed. “You’re taking Nate over the cliff?!”
“Sorry, dude…but…you’re taking him over the cliff.”
Huh?
“Joe is too heavy and I’m the only one who knows how to operate the pulleys,” he exclaimed. “You have to go down with him.”
Was he out of his fricking mind?!
“We’re ready,” called Joe. He and the others stepped back from Nate. The unconscious boy hung—suspended—a few feet out from the edge of the cliff.
“What about one of your guys?” I asked. “They’re right here.”
“And they’re smaller than you,” said Ru, becoming frustrated. “Dude, we need someone light enough, so that they don’t bust the lines—and strong enough to fireman Nate into the ocean once they’ve reached the bottom. I look around—I only see you. If you’ve got a better idea, tell it to me now. Because we are running out of time!”