Those Who Came Before

by J. H. Moncrieff

  She nodded. “I want to do whatever I can to help Travis. Ask anything you like, but I don’t know much.”

  “I heard Travis was fine this morning?” Maria took out her notebook, more to have something safe to look at than anything else.

  “Yes, he was completely normal. He had such beautiful skin.” She sobbed, and then pressed a tear-soaked Kleenex to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Maybe we should speak in the waiting room? Or the cafeteria? Would that be easier?”

  Her gaze flicked to her son and then to Maria’s notebook. She shook her head. “I can’t leave him.”

  “Okay, I understand. I just need to ask you a few more questions. When did you notice something was wrong?”

  “He asked if he could go play with Braden this morning. Braden’s his friend from school,” she said, her voice shaking. Jorge handed her fresh tissues, and she gave him a weak smile of thanks before using one to dab her face. “They often like to ride their bikes around the neighborhood, and I think it’s good for children to get some exercise, don’t you?” She seemed to catch herself, looking from Maria to Jorge and back again. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

  On the bed, Travis writhed. His screams had died to defeated little whimpers, the kind you hear when an infant has cried himself out. “Jorge, can you find that doctor and ask him if there’s anything more they can do? He shouldn’t be in pain like this.”

  Jorge nodded, the gratitude obvious on his face. She was envious; she wished someone would send her out of the room.

  “Thank you so much,” Mrs. Haverstock said. “I’ve been asking, but I feel like they’re not listening to me. What’s your name?”

  “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Maria Greyeyes, and I’m a detective with the Clear Springs Police.”

  “A detective? I don’t understand. Why are two detectives here? Is Travis in trouble?” Her lower lip quivered.

  “No, I don’t think so. I just need you to tell me everything you know about what your son did today.”

  “Well, he left around eight this morning. I was putting away the breakfast things, so I admit I didn’t see which direction he went. Then the door slammed open around noon, and I heard Travis shouting for me.” Her voice shook, and she dabbed at her eyes again. “It scared the life out of me.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “When I asked what was wrong, he ripped off his shirt—” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “His torso was already covered in those…those things.”

  Maria resisted the urge to look at the boy’s wounds again, but she could hear them. That was bad enough. Against her breastbone, the arrowhead thudded along in time with her heart. She hoped the poor woman wouldn’t notice anything moving under her shirt.

  “Even as I watched, the sores started to break open. He was in terrible pain, and I couldn’t do anything to help him. I—I ended up calling 911. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You did the right thing. Did Travis tell you what happened?”

  “All he said was that he’d been to the campground. Sometimes they go up there and fool around, but he knows I don’t like it. Especially since those poor young people died—” Her voice cracked, and she needed a moment before she could speak again.

  “Do you want some water?”

  She waved a hand. “No, just…give me a minute.”

  “Take all the time you want. This must be very difficult.”

  As Maria waited for the mother to regain control, she silently cursed the doctor. Where was he? There had to be more they could do for this kid. She felt someone watching her, and glanced up to meet Travis’s tormented eyes. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He didn’t react – only continued to stare at her, and it was giving her the creeps.

  “He admitted they went into your crime scene, but he swore he didn’t touch anything.” Mrs. Haverstock swallowed hard. “I guess that’s why you’re here.”

  “Yes and no. What your son did wasn’t great, but we’ve finished with that part of the investigation. I’m sure there was no harm done. I still don’t get the connection between the campground and what happened to Travis and Braden.”

  “I-I don’t understand it either, but those boys must have gotten into something. M-Maybe poison oak? Or sumac?”

  Maria didn’t have to tell her this resembled no case of poison oak she’d ever seen. They both understood Mrs. Haverstock was clinging to any potential explanation. Every mother would do the same in her shoes.

  A nurse bustled into the room, her eyes narrowing when she saw Maria sitting there. She wore a mask over her nose and mouth. “You’re going to have to leave. You can ask your questions later. This child needs to be sedated.”

  The nurse said child in such a way as if to remind Maria she was nothing but an insensitive pig. Jorge waited in the doorway and nodded at her. It was time to go. There was nothing more they could learn, in any case. Not until Travis was able to tell her exactly what had happened at the campground.

  “Thank you for your time,” she told the boy’s distraught mother. “I hope he feels better soon.”

  If Mrs. Haverstock heard them leave, she didn’t acknowledge it. Her attention was riveted on her son, tears dripping down her chin as the nurse attempted to give him another pill.

  Maria was more than happy to get the hell out of there.

  “The good news is we’ve identified the contagion.”

  The doctor’s tone left no doubt bad news would follow swiftly.

  There was no way Maria would go near her daughter before learning what she’d been exposed to. She was furious with Jorge for bringing her into this situation without any warning of what they were dealing with.

  “What is it?” Jorge asked.

  “Smallpox.”

  “Smallpox?” They looked at each other in surprise before her partner asked the question that was on both their minds. “I didn’t think you could get smallpox anymore? Maybe in third-world countries, but not here.”

  “It hasn’t even occurred there since the seventies. We completely eradicated it from the planet, or so we’d believed. The fact that these two boys contracted it at a campground that’s within a few hours of here is a concern.”

  “Is it like chicken pox?” Jorge asked. “Will it go away on its own?”

  “Unfortunately not. There’s no treatment for it, although we’re giving them the vaccine now in the hopes it will ease their symptoms. We’re going to need to keep them in quarantine for the next three to four weeks, until their scabs fall off.”

  Her partner winced. “Ouch.”

  “Did either of you touch the boys?” There was a challenge inherent in the doctor’s voice, as if he expected them to lie.

  Jorge shook his head.

  “No,” Maria said. “But I did touch Travis’s mother.” She cursed herself. She should have followed her instincts and stayed the hell away from all of them.

  “You should be okay. She’s wearing gloves, and I think we convinced her that her attempts to hold her son were hurting him. But if you start feeling like you’re coming down with the flu, any severe headaches or fatigue, come see me right away.”

  “Headaches and fatigue? Sounds like my regular life. I might not be able to tell the difference.”

  She’d meant it as a joke, but the doctor didn’t so much as crack a smile.

  “You’ll be able to tell the difference. Obviously, it’s crucial we learn exactly where these boys went and what they did. If a public campground is a breeding ground for this virus, we need to confirm it as soon as possible.

  “I’ve already been in touch with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, but in the meantime, I suggest you keep your distance from the site until it’s safe. We don’t want this to spread, and so we’re going to vaccinate both of you before you le
ave.”

  Jorge shrugged, but she didn’t like the idea of putting something foreign in her veins unless it was absolutely necessary. “Wait a minute. I thought you said we’d be fine as long as we didn’t touch one of the boys. Well, we haven’t.”

  “I said you should be okay, but I don’t think we should leave it to chance, do you? You’ve seen Travis. Do you want to risk bringing that home to your own family?” The man’s expression was grim, his lips compressed into a thin white line. He must have been worried about his own family as well.

  “Come on, Maria. We’ll get the shot. What’s the big deal?” Jorge raised an eyebrow, surely wondering why she was fighting it, but she turned back to the doctor.

  “What are the side effects?”

  “Most of the side effects resulting from this vaccination are minor. Your arm may feel sore, and there may be a bit of redness at the injection site. Some people have experienced a mild fever. Very few have felt ill enough to miss work.”

  “I can’t miss work. Not right now. Absolutely not.”

  “I think you’ll miss a lot more work if you get smallpox,” Jorge said. What’s wrong? he mouthed, but she pretended not to notice.

  “It’s a very small percentage who are affected that way,” the doctor agreed. “I’m getting the vaccination. My entire team will need it. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t sure it was safe.”

  “And what about the rare reactions, doctor?”

  Jorge bumped her knee with his, a signal that he felt she needed to rein it in. But she was rewarded when the doctor had the good grace to look embarrassed, faint color blooming in his cheeks.

  “In some very rare cases, it has been fatal, but we’re talking about fifteen to fifty people out of a million.”

  “Which is it? Fifteen or fifty? Because that’s a huge difference.”

  “Jesus, Maria. Get the damn shot,” her partner said. “Think of your kid. You don’t want Heidi to end up like that.”

  She didn’t, and she couldn’t figure out why she was being so prickly. But she was positive she didn’t need the vaccine. She’d been careful not to touch Travis, and she was pretty sure patting the mother’s arm through the hospital smock hadn’t put her at risk. But she was hardly an expert on smallpox, so why would she take the chance?

  It was the doctor’s attitude more than anything. How dare he sit there, smug in his white privilege, talking down to the brown people as if they were too stupid to realize he wanted to inject them with something they didn’t need, something that might make them sick?

  What the – where the hell did that come from? It was like an alien had infiltrated her thoughts, substituting its own. She’d found the doctor to be high and mighty, yes, but more than anything, he was overly concerned. She didn’t think he was racist.

  “You okay?” Jorge touched her arm, giving it a little shake.

  They both stared at her. She must have checked out for a bit. “Doctor, are hallucinations a symptom of smallpox?”

  The man frowned. “Not usually, but I suppose if the fever were high enough, it could cause them. Why?”

  “You seein’ things, Maria?” Jorge asked.

  Avoiding his eyes, which picked up on far too much, she concentrated on the doctor. “No. I think I – read that somewhere.”

  “Please tell me if you experience anything unusual. That goes for you too,” the doctor told her partner. “I have to admit, I’m far from an authority on smallpox. I have some research to do. The Disease Control people will know a lot more, I expect.”

  “I haven’t experienced anything unusual yet,” she said, hoping she sounded reassuring. She wondered what the men would do if she took the arrowhead from under her shirt. It certainly qualified as unusual. It was still beating in rhythm with her heart, but she didn’t want to guess what it looked like now. Bloody and bloated and glistening, most likely. If anything could make the men forget about smallpox, it would be that. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily.” The doctor sighed, running his hand through his hair. “It can incubate anywhere from a week to seventeen days.”

  She nudged Jorge. “Then the campground had nothing to do with it. The boys only went to Strong Lake this morning. They wouldn’t be showing symptoms this quickly.”

  Even as she said the words, she knew she was wrong. The campground had everything to do with the virus that had befallen the boys. She just wasn’t sure how.

  “There’s a reason we think the boys came into contact with the virus at the campground, but I’d like to vaccinate you both before I take you to the morgue.”

  “The morgue?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to tell you, Maria,” Jorge said, looking sheepish. “Once you arrived, things happened so fast. You think this case has been strange? It’s about to get a lot stranger.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Wake up. Hey man, wake up.” A man’s voice interrupted my sleep, but for a moment, I thought it was part of my dream.

  “Oh, isn’t that sweet. Would you look at that? Ol’ Crazyhorse has made a friend.”

  “Have to be in pretty sad shape to make friends with that.”

  “You know what they say about the company you keep. I think they’re perfect for each other.”

  The man’s tone was kindly, but there was something underneath, like the stench of rot under cloying air freshener, that made me open my eyes.

  “Your beauty sleep is over, Wallace. We have to talk to you.”

  “Yeah,” another man said. “We need to tell you a few things.”

  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I blinked. Without windows, it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but I was exhausted. It was as if I’d gotten no sleep at all.

  I looked across the cell at Crazyhorse, and my chest tightened. Something was wrong. The man huddled in the far corner of his cot, his knees clutched to his chest like he wanted to disappear.

  “Hey, Wallace, I’m talking to you. You better start showing us some respect.”

  There was a loud metal clang. The man who had arrested me waited at the bars of our cell. He had a friend with him, and they both grinned.

  I’d encountered his type many times before. I suspect every guy had. He was a bully, and you couldn’t show fear in front of a bully. It only made them feel more powerful. I wanted to shake my cellmate, tell him to grow a pair, but of course it was too late. The men were already laughing at his reaction, having a great ol’ time.

  “Have you slept it off yet, you crazy Wagon Burner?” the guy’s friend asked, leering at my cellmate through the bars. “You won’t want a drink again by the time we’re done with you.”

  “Yep, our program is a lot quicker than AA.” The man who’d arrested me slapped a baton against his palm. “Instead of twelve steps, there are only two. Me hitting you, and you hitting the floor.”

  “Wow, that’s original.” I made a big show of rolling my eyes. “The eighties called. They want their joke back.”

  He swiveled his head toward me, baring his teeth. With his beady eyes and thin nostrils, he reminded me of a snake. Which was a huge insult to snakes everywhere. “Are you saying you want to go first, Wallace? Is that what you’re saying? Because I reckon me and Dean here could beat the murder-loving rapist right out of you.”

  I heard a muffled cry and looked over to see Crazyhorse shaking his head at me. If he wanted to feed those assholes with his fear, that was his prerogative. I wasn’t about to give them the pleasure. “In that case, your work here is done, because I’m not a murder and I’m not a rapist.”

  The asshole cop snorted at me. “Yeah, you seem real innocent, sitting in that cell.”

  “It’s called ‘wrongfully accused.’ If you bring me a dictionary, I’ll look it up for you.”

  The cocky grin vanished from
the cop’s face. He glanced at his colleague, who seemed uncertain what to do. The other guy fidgeted, eying his ‘friend’ warily. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was as bullied as we were. And that wasn’t good. Men can do a lot of crazy things when they’re under pressure from their buddies.

  “You know what I hate, Dean?” the dominant cop asked, as casually as if he were ordering pizza. “Smart-asses. I hate smart-asses who think they know more than everybody else.”

  My apparent lack of fear had thrown the second cop. He obviously hadn’t expected me to parry a few shots, but now that their agenda was back on track, he looked idiotically jubilant.

  “Me too,” he said.

  “You know what I like to do? I like to scramble their brains a bit, let them see how it feels to be as stupid as the rest of us.” He stepped back, giving his buddy a nod. “Open it.”

  The sharp, unmistakable odor of urine filled the cell. Wrinkling my nose, I regarded the old Indian, who was weeping, his head resting on his knees. He already had his arms folded over his head.

  As the keys jangled in the lock, I leapt from the bed, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. The asshole cop laughed.

  “What are you looking for, boy? There’s nowhere to run.”

  And there was nothing to use as a weapon, either. Unless….

  “Get up,” I snapped at Crazyhorse, giving his shoulder a little shove. “Hurry.”

  The man looked confused, but he did what I told him, scurrying into a corner and covering his head again. What I had in mind wasn’t much. It probably wouldn’t even slow them down. But at least it would make beating us less pleasant.

  The door swung open, and Asshole Cop strutted toward me. Our holding cell was so small there really wasn’t room for all of us, so his friend had to wait outside.

  When A.C. saw me tugging at Crazyhorse’s bedding, he snorted. “I’m not here for a pillow fight, Wall—”

  Whap. The pathetic excuse for a mattress came free, and I struck the cop full in the face with my cellmate’s puddle of pee.